Holding
by mindfluff
Summary: Just a quick oneshot of Eragon & Arya.


**A/N;** I do not own any of these characters. The credit for them goes to Christopher Paolini, although you don't know how much I wish I had the ability to come up with characters & a story like he did. XD

Be careful, also, if you haven't read Brisingr. **Spoilers occur in here.** D: I'm sorryyy…

Sosososo. : A while back, I had this random English teacher who said I was "good at delving in to character's minds" yada yada yada… Well, we'll put that to the test now, won't we? I've taken my favorite sentence from Brisingr, and written somewhat of a oneshot based on it. And… well, I hope you like it. : Feel free to make any suggestions.

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**eragon&arya.**

**BRISINGR** She reached out and grasped his shoulder, and almost by accident, he found himself holding her in his arms.

**ERAGON POV **She was right there—right there! Surprise instantly flickered in my mind, a little spark underneath the grief that was eating up my emotions. Was it selfish of me to feel a faint hint of joy right now? Was it wrong? Holding her, I felt sobs wracking through her slender frame. Impulse made me want to wrap my arms around her even tighter, but if I did, she would most likely pull away.

Silent tears threatened to course their way through new paths down my cheeks, but I kept them in, for the sake of remaining strong, as well as to not tarnish her raven black hair with them. If only she knew—if only. But she did know. She had known for a while—if only she could now accept it.

I loved her. I loved Arya Svit-kona, and as of now, I was positive that that was never going to change. No matter how much she tried to dissuade me in pursuing her, I had not given up hope yet. I wouldn't give up hope—especially now that I had experienced holding her in my own two arms. Holding her in my arms was something new, but it felt as if it were something I had been meant to do all my life—as if it were a major part of my destiny.

Suddenly, as I became more and more aware of Arya's presence, and how close in to my proximity she was, a sense of bashfulness came over me. A crimson color spread its way across my cheeks—blast it! Even though I had seen more than my years on this earth were supposed to have led me to seen, there were some things you just couldn't change in a seventeen-year-old boy. I bit my lip, feeling the familiar warmth backing in to my face.

Trying to prevent the blush from making a mess of my face while keeping the tears in (as it simply wouldn't do to be crying and blushing at once), I concentrated on other thoughts. Luckily, a certain measure of curiosity that resided in me allowed my thoughts to turn to wondering about what Arya was thinking. Obviously she wasn't quite herself now—if she was, then she wouldn't be allowing me to hold her.

He was dead. He would never again reprimand me for my mistakes or my impatience. The person I had looked to for guidance, the person that had hidden away from the Empire in order to give _me_ help and aid—he was gone. As I was succumbing to grief, I found it hard to force my mind to focus on one thought, as my mind was now flighty and kept on pondering over different things—perhaps to simply prevent myself from facing the cruel and harsh reality of having yet another person close to me falling to Galbatorix.

In some ways, this was a picturesque scene. If it were possible, I would take this bittersweet feeling and make a memory out of it—a memory that I would hold on to until my grip upon it was loosened. Even then, I would fight to keep it. I would fight to the death to have this feeling once again after it ended.

Just like I would fight to the death for Arya.

**BRISINGR **_Eragon felt his own eyes grow wet. He clenched his jaw in an effort to remain his composure; if he started crying, he knew he would not be able to stop._

**ARYA POV **They were dead… Dead. Gone. Both of them, their lives taken out of them just like that. Curse Galbatorix! Curse the Forsworn—curse them in their graves! It hurt so much… If Galbatorix could send Murtagh and Thorn to do his dirty work and succeed like that, what about Eragon and Saphira? What if… What if…

No. I couldn't think like that. It wasn't right. I couldn't remain weak and let thoughts like that plague me. If I did, I was nothing more than a pathetic creature that endlessly needed reassurance about things. I had to stop. But it was hard—oh it was hard! Just like I couldn't stop the tears that had all of a sudden started choking me and spilling out, I couldn't stop thinking about the melancholy that would descend upon the land once again if Eragon were gone from the land…

_And Saphira! Saphira's important too! _I forced in to my mind.

But you don't care as much for Saphira as you do Eragon.

I needed to relax, as right now, I felt as if I were going in to hysterics. Closing my eyes, I let the remaining tears fall. It wasn't everyday that an elf cried, and I was glad that only Eragon was here to see me in this moment of… weakness.

_Eragon._ What did he mean to me? It was hard to tell—sometimes I could claim that I… well, that I happened to maybe, perhaps… possibly… love him. Other times it just seemed too repulsive and horrid for me to find it in my heart to even think about loving him. It was, for the most part, unheard of in history, meaning that I had no example to base this situation off of in order to determine what the right thing to do was. My mother had already partially shunned me due to my relationship with the Varden—what would she do if she knew of these mixed feelings? I longed to be able to consult her about this matter, but there was no trace of doubt in my mind that she simply wouldn't listen.

I tried to steady my composure through deep and even breaths, although it was hard, as suddenly I was conscious of Eragon's loose hold on me. Upon noticing this, I drew a sharp intake of breath, and a slight tingle that hinted at a blush brushed my face. What was he doing?

Breathing in deeply, I caught a relatively bold scent in the air. His scent. It was a musky smell, laced thoroughly with exhaustion and grief. From the way he held his body posture, the inference I had already come up with was that he was tired, yes, but there was something about the way he was holding me…

I had already told him before—more than once—that it would never work between us, as the argument of age difference still remained poised in the air, as well as the other fact that I had only recently spoke to him about: Faolin.

Had I loved Faolin? Had he loved me? What had we meant to each other?

Faolin…

Was he watching me now? Was he disappointed in me?

**BRISINGR **_He and Arya remained locked together for a long while, consoling each other, then Arya withdrew…_

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Haha. I'm done. :)

Either now, you're ready to hug me, or you're ready to strangle me. Or maybe you're just going to click the back button without reading this little note at the end… Heehee. (:

Please leave a review behind if you want to? (:

I know that Arya might seem a little out of character… I tried to make her as like… uhh… proud as I could, when she was like, "I can't be weak." It's kinda hard, because you know… the original stories by Christopher Paolini are never told from Arya's point of view. And Arya is also probably my favorite character, meaning that I'm kinda… er… biased when writing with her. (x

I tried my best. 8D  
So!  
Yeah.


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